


Something Better Beginning

by respoftw



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Hurt Pietro, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/respoftw/pseuds/respoftw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Clint wants is to spend some time with Pietro Maximoff, agent of SHIELD but all these damn superheroes keep getting in the way.</p><p>An AU where Pietro and Wanda joined SHIELD before Tony Stark got kidnapped.</p><p>*please note, this fic I see abandoned and will not be finished*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Iron Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurelie (NowImJustSomebodyThat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowImJustSomebodyThat/gifts).



> Long authors note ahead - sorry!  
> Back in July I wrote a [drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4362623) that had Pietro and Wanda join SHIELD under the wings of Clint and Natasha.  
> The lovely Aurelie then implanted the idea in my head about how cool it would be to see how this fact would change the MCU.  
> Well, 5 months later I'm still thinking about this idea and have a notebook filled with ways that the movies would be different so I figured that I should probably write it just to get it out of my head.
> 
> Each chapter should be fairly stand alone, although like the movies there will be a running theme throughout. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy and feel free to get in touch if you have anything you would like to see from the later movies/chapters. Tags will be updated as I go.

"Listen up," Coulson commanded and the entire room snapped to attention.

Clint will never understand how he can do that and make it seem so effortless. He had come to terms a long time ago that there was a lot about Coulson that he would never understand.

"At 1317 hours, local time, there was an attack on US Air Force troops in Kunar Province, Afghanistan. We have multiple casualties and many more wounded." Coulson paused briefly, casting his eyes around the group of gathered Agents. Clint could swear he saw Phil's face twitch minutely as he noticed Pietro and Wanda standing eagerly beside him and Natasha but he barely had a chance to wonder why before a picture of Tony Stark appeared on the screen in front of them all.

"And one missing civilian." Coulson concluded as quiet murmurs started to fill the air at the announcement.

Well, mostly quiet.

"You are calling Tony Stark a civilian? The most famous mass murderer in America?" 

Clint mentally face palms as the heavily accented voice of Pietro Maximoff, better known as Agent Silver, even better known as the giant pain in Clint's ass, rises above everything else. Clint may not understand everything about Phil Coulson but, the same could not be said about Pietro. Unfortunately. And one thing even the most unobservant of agents knew was that you didn't ever mention Tony Stark to one of the Maximoff twins. 

Phil's facial tic from earlier made a lot more sense now.

"Agent Silver," Coulson addressed Pietro coolly and calmly. "While I understand your own personal issues with Mr Stark and his company, this is not the place to air them. Are we clear?"

Pietro looks suitably chastised as he nods his head meekly (and Clint needs to find out how Phil can do that) but Clint knows that he's not heard the last of this.

"Do we know how they were taken out?" Natasha asks, directing the debrief back on course.

Phil looks grateful as he answers. "Early reports have suggested that Stark Industry weapons were used."

Clint manages to elbow Pietro in the ribs before he can make any pointed comments about karma and swears he could see Coulson's mouth tick upward for a brief moment at the pained moan from the corner of the room.

"Mr Stark was in Afghanistan to give a presentation on his latest weapon." Pictures of a missile, and video clips of a pretty damn cool lokking missile launch show on the screen as Coulson continues talking. "They're calling it Jericho. The prototype that was on the ground is accounted for but its not yet clear if this weapon had anything to do with Mr Stark's abduction."

"Have there been any ransom demands?" Wanda calls out, earning a nod of approval from Natasha and a glare of betrayal from Pietro.

"Not yet." Coulson answers, "And the likelihood of finding their location in the mountains is slim. We're waiting on further information but you should all be aware and ready to go should we find anything. Dismissed."

The room starts to clear, everyone dispelling as quickly as they had snapped to attention when Coulson had walked in and Clint is almost at the exit when Coulson's voice calls out. "Agent Barton, a word?"

Goddamnit, so close. 

Pietro sends an apologetic look over his shoulder as he leaves Clint to face the music and - not for the first time - Clint really wishes he had chosen Wanda as his trainee agent over Pietro. Stupid bewitching blue eyes, he curses internally.

"Yes sir?"

Phil glances around the now empty room in amusement. "You can drop the Sir, Clint. So...how are things going with Agent Silver? You lost any hair yet?"

Clint bristles, while resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair just to check that it's still all there. "He's got potential. I mean, yeah he's got a smart mouth but there's definite potential."

"Hmm." Phil hums noncomittally in that annoying mysterious way that he has. "Well, if anyone knows about smart mouths..." He teases before turning serious again. "Just try and teach him that there's a time and a place for that, yeah?" Phil trails off for a second, shaking his head as he makes to head out the room. "..actually, who am I talking to? I'll speak to Romanoff."

"HEY! I resent the implication there."

"Yeah? Well, I resent the fact that my hairline receded an inch during my first month as your SO so we all have our crosses to bear." 

*

The orders to mount a rescue for Stark never come, the mountain terrain too vast for them to get a lock on his location. Although, as Tony Stark ends up rescuing himself it all seems to work out alright in the end.

Except for the rumours of a man made of metal that had filtered their way all the way down to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division (and seriously, Clint really wishes they would take his suggestion of calling themselves SHIELD - he could never remember that crap.)

The rumours were persistent and weird enough for Fury to order Coulson to try and intercept Stark on his arrival home. Where, as luck would have it, the first thing he did was call a press conference.

A press conference that Coulson completely struck out at.

A press conference that had caused Pietro's mouth to harden, his lips pressed together in a cold, thin line as he listened to Tony Stark pontificate over the loss of young American life and swear to shut down his weapons manufacturing division immediately.

A press conference that has Pietro throwing a cushion at the TV unit in anger and cursing in Sokovian, with even Wanda unable to calm him down.

Clint finds him hours later, hiding in one of Clint's own spots high in the rafters of The Hub. 

"You ready to talk about it, kid?" Clint eases himself down next where Pietro sat figuring that Pietro wouldn't be here, in Clint's nest, unless he was ready to be found.

Pietro didn't answer for a long time and Clint was almost ready to sigh heavily and give up when the silence,finally broke.

"He's too late."

Clint's heart aches for Pietro, for that small, hopeless voice that he never wants to hear again.

"For my parents, mine and Wanda's, and who knows how many others. Why couldn't he have grown a conscience then? Why did he have to wait until now? Why - -" Pietro breaks off, his eyes glistening with unshod tears as he stares imploringly at Clint.

Clint wishes he could answer, wishes he could do anything to take away Pietro's pain but all he can do is sit next to him and wrap his arm around him and let him cry.

He knows that what happened to Pietro and Wanda's parents wasn't Tony Stark's fault; he has enough emotional distance from the event to realise that. But, as Pietro buries his face against his shoulder and sobs, at this moment Clint thinks that a part of him will always hate Tony Stark.

*

Coulson hasn't given up trying to get a meeting with Tony Stark, especially given the unidentified red and gold metal man that had been picked up on The Strategic Homeland - ah, fuck it - SHIELD radars, and insists on attending the Charity event at Disney Concert Hall despite Clint parroting back what the E! News reporter had been saying about how unlikely Stark was to attend. 

In retrospect it was probably that comment, spoken as it was through a mouthful of Lucky Charms, that had him accompanying Coulson to the event. 

In the shadows. 

Which meant he didn't even get to sample the champagne or hors d'oeuvres which was the only thing that made going to these fancy events even remotely worthwhile.

Still, watching Stark fob Phil off with an appointment that he obviously never intended to keep to go and flirt with the lovely Miss Potts was fun. Snapping a picture of Agent Calm and Collected's annoyed face as the two of them left the party was even better.

It got less fun when he overheard the conversation between Stark and Obadiah Stane. Clint was torn between feeling vindicated on Pietro's behalf at the proof that Stark Industries were dealing on the black market and feeling the need to break cover and put an arrow through the heart of Stane in retribution for Pietro's family.

The news of the atrocity in Gulmira had broke by the time they made it back to base and Pietro was waiting up for him, indignant and ready to rant about how he had been right about Tony Stark all along.

Except for how they started getting reports of the same red and gold metal man disarming the Ten Rings in one swift strike. 

Even Pietro had to admit that Tony Stark couldn't be all bad after that. Even if he was slightly naive to believe that nobody would put the fact that he was clearly the man behind this new superhero that had cropped up. 

And then all hell broke loose.

"Respectfully Sir, one of us should go with you." Natasha tried to reason with Phil as he prepared to gather a team to arrest Obadiah, who had not only been dealing in the black market but had arranged for the abduction/murder of Tony Stark and, apparently, now had his own version of the metal suit that Stark had designed. 

Clint doesn't remember reading about that hot new trend in this months Vogue.

"Absolutely not." Coulson shot Natasha's suggestion down. "You might not believe it, but I can take care of myself and I'm sure Director Fury wouldn't be too happy at my using one of his best two covert operatives as bodyguards."

"Hey," Pietro interrupted. "One of his best four covert operatives."

Clint snorted in laughter. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Speedy. You've not even got your training wheels off yet." He turned to Phil as Pietro started to sputter in offended outrage, something that was so commonplace that it was easy to ignore. "Seriously though, Phil. We've all got your back if you need us."

Phil smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll be fine."

*

Clint, Natasha, Wanda and Pietro are crowded around the monitor as the CCTV footage Wanda had hacked into shows the explosion rocking the Stark Industry building.

"Aw, Phil, no." Clint curses. "I knew we should have gone with him."

Wanda's fingers fly across the keyboard as she pulled up some biometric readings. "He is alive, heart rate only slightly elevated - most likely due to adrenaline rather than injury. He's fine."

Natasha nods mildly and it was only because of years of working together that Clint could see the relief in her eyes. 

"How the hell did you manage to get a tracker on Coulson?" Clint asks, stunned and more than a little bit impressed by Wanda. Coulson was notoriously eagle eyed and all Clint's previous attempts at bugging the man had failed. 

"Quick fingers," Pietro grinned as he waggled his hands obscenely in Clint's face. 

"You bugged him?"

"What?" Pietro teases. "Like it's hard?"

God, Clint wishes he'd chosen Wanda all those months ago.

Luckily, he's saved from answering by the sudden appearance of what could only be Obadiah in his haute couture metal outfit, followed swiftly by Tony Stark in his own version. This was almost better than Project Runway, Clint thought. And then there were explosions which definitely made it more entertaining than Project Runway. Maybe.

Although he can't help but feel sorry for the pencil pushers who were going to have to give Stark an alibi to cover him for all this destruction and mayhem. If he survived, that was.

*

Tony did survive. Coulson did provide him with the standard SHIELD issued cover story (and yes, they were finally calling themselves SHIELD and Clint had gotten none of the credit for that, goddamnit!)

Then Stark fucked everything up.

"I am Iron Man."

The press conference had been playing in the SHIELD cafeteria and at those four words the entore congregation of SHIELD agents had erupted into groans with more than a a few bread rolls being thrown at the TV for good measure.

Pietro was not the only member of SHIELD cursing out Tony Stark that day, each and every one of them envisaging the overtime that would be needed to clean this mess up.

*

"Barton, Fury wants to see you in his office. And take your pet with you." 

Clint mindlessly pulls Pietro back from where he was about to launch himself at Agent Ward (God, Clint hated that guy) and smiles blandly in thanks at the jackass instead - his mind is already planning the errant arrow that might find its way into the jackasses backside the next time they're in the shooting range together.

Pietro is still tense when they reach Fury's office, tenser still when he sees his sister and Natasha already standing to attention in front of the man himself.

Clint allows his shoulder to brush gently against Pietro's own and watches with a small smile as Pietro's body immediately relaxes at the contact. Swinging his eyes towards Fury, he straightens up at the hard glare that the Director is throwing his way. Clint has always felt like Fury's glare could see into the heart of his soul, one working eye be damned. A handy skill for the Director of SHIELD to have, sure. Not so much when Clint is desperately trying to hide just how attached he's getting to his junior agent.

Fury finally breaks eye contact and Clint can breathe again.

"The Stark situation," Fury begins, "I've decided that it warrants a closer surveillance. On the ground, covert surveillance. Now, Coulson tells me that you're the four best covert operatives we've got," (Clint rolls his eyes as Pietro preens under the words), "so..any volunteers?"

"Baggsy not it!" Wanda, Pietro and Clint call out at the same time, their fingers flying towards their nose.

Natasha curses in Russian and looks at each of them with the promise of payback in her eyes.

"Congratulations Agent Romanoff. Let's get your cover story sorted."

Pietro catches Clint's eye and grins as they're dismissed and the feeling of utter relief that they're not being separated just yet overwhelms Clint.

He just might be in trouble.


	2. Iron Man 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha gets all the best jobs and Clint is in his own personal hell.

"I can't get away for the Expo."  Natasha sounds pissed off and Clint is grateful that she's currently on the other side of the country from him.  Although he does pity the poor civilians in the legal department of Stark Industries that have to bear the brunt of her bad mood.   
  
Two months undercover as an office worker has not sat well with Natasha; not that Clint can blame her.  Even if sometimes it does sound like a nice change of pace from having to deal with two newly minted Maximoff agents single-handedly.   
  
"That's fine, Agent Romanoff."  Coulson sounds unconcerned and, really, that should have been his first clue that he wasn't going to like where this conversation was headed.  "Agent Scarlet will attend under the guise of, ah, entertainment."   
  
And...there it was.   
  
"What? Excuse me? What?"  Clint prays that he misheard Coulson because he knows what kind of  _ entertainment  _ Stark normally has at these things and as much as he usually appreciates the, uh, attributes of Stark's dancing girls, there is absolutely no way he is letting Wanda pose as one of them.  And only part of the reasoning for that is that Pietro will murder him.  Honestly, Wanda is like family to him now and his little sister dressing up like that is....just no.   
  
"Oh, what?" Natasha snarks over the video call.  "It's ok for you to take those ridiculous 'Tokyo modelling shots' of me but you're balking at Wanda doing a little dance?"   
  
"Hey!  First off, those shots were very tasteful and artistic," Clint rushes to defend his artistic integrity as a photographer.  "And second, you're you and she's.."   
  
"A fully qualified SHIELD agent who knows what's expected of her."  Coulson interrupts before his two pet assassins work themselves into a full blown argument.  "It's already done.  Agent Romanoff, keep up the surveillance on Stark, and Barton?  I'll let you tell Agent Silver about the new instructions for the Expo."   
  
Clint had always suspected that Coulson was evil.

*   
  
The opening night of the Stark Expo at Flushing Meadows, New York went without a hitch.  Professionally, that is.  Personally, Pietro wasn't talking to him and Clint wasn't sure that he'd be able to look at Wanda without seeing her in that costume ever again and that was just all kinds of wrong.    
  
Clint really thinks that Pietro is being unfair because it's not as if he were the one to assign Wanda to that job and she had seemed to have fun doing it but try telling that to Agent Pain-in-Barton's-Ass.      
  
His only consolation was that Natasha seemed to be having just as hard a time as him.   
  
*

  
**Nat: I just spent the day negotiating a deal to transfer ownership of all of Stark's modern art collection to the Boy Scouts of America.  I hate all three of you for sticking me with this job.** ****  
  
Clint:  Could be worse.  I spent all day playing lookout while P chatted up some guy who was old enough to be his father.     
  
**Nat: Do you want me to state the obvious?**   
  
Clint: I AM NOT OLD ENOUGH TO BE HIS FATHER.     
  
Clint: Not that it's even in any way relevant to anything if I was or wasn't.

**  
****Nat:  You keep telling yourself that.** **  
****  
** *  
  
**Nat: Finally met Stark today.  He ogled me.  And I'm pretty sure he saved those artistic tasteful shots of yours into his personal hard drive.  But it was OK, I got to take out my anger on Happy.** **  
**  
Clint: Stark has one of the seven dwarves working for him?  And you beat him up?    
  
Clint: I'm gonna take it from your non answer that I said something stupid.  
  
Clint: Well, my day wasn't any better.  P still on honeypot mission. I want to poke my eyes out with my own arrows.  
  
**Nat: Oh my God, Clint.  Will you just tell him already?**  
  
Clint: Tell him what?  
  
Clint: No, seriously Nat, tell him what?  
  
*  
  
Of course, Natasha got to go to Monaco so Clint still feels like he has the worst deal right now.  
  
*  
  
Clint fumbles in the dark, spilling the glass of water on his nightstand as he struggles to attach his regular, non-SHIELD provided hearing aids and reaches for his ringing mobile.  The alarm clock informs him that it's just past three in the morning which means that he has barely managed an hours sleep after stumbling home from finishing paperwork on his and Pietro's latest case.  This better be damn important.  
  
"What?" He barks into the phone, not bothering to check who was calling.  
  
"Turn the TV on to the Grand Prix coverage."  Pietro sounds far too awake for this time at night.  
  
"The..what?  Pietro.  Do you know what time it is?"  
  
"The Monaco Grand Prix, Barton.  There is some sort of madman on the circuit with electric whips and he's targeting Stark and there is fire and explosions and Natasha is there with him, right?"  
  
Pietro sounds like he's gone crazy but all Clint can focus on is explosions and Natasha and he's up and in the living room, frantically trying to find whatever goddamn channel shows live Grand Prix races.  
  
He almost skips past the right channel because the scene on screen looks like something out of a bad action movie but he's pretty sure that's Pepper Potts in the car that is being sliced in half by - _jesus, Pietro was_ _right_ \- electrical whips.  
  
"Holy fuck," he breathes.  Jesus Christ, he hopes Natasha hasn't got herself tangled up in this fight, not without the rest of their little family as backup.  He hates it when any of the four of them are separated from each other like this.   
  
Pietro is still babbling in his ear, his words slipping into Sokovian like he has a tendency to do when  the adrenaline kicks in. (Clint had realised he was going to have to learn the language almost the minute he met the twins and he honestly doesn't think he's ever picked up a new language faster.  Nat had teased that they should introduce him to hot native speakers more often if they wanted him to learn fast from now on.  Clint had told her to fuck off in Russian and she had laughed until she cried.)  
  
_God, please be OK, Nat.  Please._  
  
"She's fine!"  Pietro is speaking English again and Clint breathes a sigh of relief.  "Wanda has a text from her and she was behind the race barricades when it started.  Fury has instructed her to hang back unless it gets worse."  
  
"Well," Clint slumps on to his couch as he watches Tony Stark become Iron Man,  "it looks like it's all under control."  
  
"Yes."  Pietro sounds as relieved as Clint feels and a small pit of warmth pools in Clint's belly as he realises that the twins, that _Pietro_ , cares just as much about him, about _them_ as Clint does.  
  
"What were you doing watching this in the middle of the night anyway?"  Clint asks.  
  
"It's Formula One." Pietro sounds like he is smiling.  "you know how much I like fast things."  
  
Clint laughs and settles more comfortably on the couch, his tiredness forgotten as Pietro and he argue the merits of Formula 1 compared to NASCAR.  
  
Who needs sleep when he could have this instead?  
  
*  
  
Clint: So, how was Monaco?  You have a nice time?  
  
**Nat: Sunny.  Beautiful. Stuff Exploded. Can't complain.**  
  
Clint: :p  
  
**Nat: Never send me an emoticon again**.    
  
Clint:  ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
  
**Nat: I will end you**.  
  
Clint: You going to Tony's party thing tonight.  
  
**Nat: Yeah.** **  
****  
****Nat: I think he's really dying.**  
  
Clint:  you like him, don't you?  
  
**Nat: He told me I was an old soul.** **  
**  
Clint: was this before or after he hit on you?  
  
**Nat: During.** **  
**  
**Nat: He's...surprisingly interesting.**  
  
Clint:  We've got our best biochemists working on it.  I heard that they pulled some genius kid from the Academy to help come up with a solution for the poisoning.  
  
**Nat: I just hope it doesn't come too late**.  
  
*  
  
"....Sounds like we missed a hell of a party."  Clint quips.    
  
Natasha and Fury glare at him but Clint can see Pietro from the corner of his eye,  biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing so he's calling that one a win.  
  
"My apologies, Agent Barton.  I'll make sure that you get the next fun assignment."  Fury makes the banal comment sound like a threat as he flashes his teeth at Clint in the approximation of a grin.  "Agent Coulson, I'd like you to join Agent Romanoff and I in Malibu to handle the Stark situation.  Barton, Silver, Scarlet; get back on your assigned mission.  I want a result on that yesterday! Five minutes, Coulson."  
  
Fury stalks out the room, his coat twirling dramatically behind him.    
  
"This is bullshit Phil,  how does he expect a handful of agents to stop Iron Man from doing what he wants to do."  Clint asks, his hands waving around in frustration.  They're just agents.  Well trained agents, sure, but superheroes were so beyond what they had trained for that it was scary.  Clint's not scared for himself, never is, but when he looks at the people he cares about; Natasha, Phil, Wanda....Pietro.  He's not sure he can survive anything happening to them.  
  
Phil waves off his concern with his usual nonchalance.  "Eh, it'll be fine.  If he gets out of hand I'll just taser him and leave him drooling on the carpet while I watch 'Supernanny'."  
  
Pietro, Wanda and Natasha crack up.  They've all seen the photos.  
  
"Goddamnit, Phil.  Will you stop bringing that up!"    
  
*

  
Natasha was jetting off to New York later that day, Clint was holed up in a luxury Malibu mansion and Clint was once again being forced to watch as some wrinkly, grey haired old man pawed at Pietro.   
  
"You should tell my brother how you feel."  Wanda's voice in his ear startles Clint from his moping.  From his position high up in one of the neighbouring buildings he narrows in on where Wanda sits at an outdoor cafe, seemingly waiting on someone to join her but actually waiting for Pietro's signal to collect the piece of ntel that they were trying to extract from their target.   
  
Their older, really needs to keep his hands to himself, target.   
  
"Keep your mind on the job, Agent Scarlet."     
  
"Please.  I can have a conversation with you about how stupid you and my boneheaded brother are being and still - - _ oh, shit _ ." Wanda breaks off in surprise and Clint watches as he rises from the table and runs towards the other side of the cafe where her brother was - - _ oh, shit!  _ __  
  
*

  
"You shot him with an arrow?"  Coulson sounds mad.   
  
"I - -" Clint doesn't even get to finish his sentence.   _ Yeah, Coulson's mad _ .   
  
"He's in the ICU, Clint.  They don't know if he's gonna make it.  And we still don't have the damn intel."   
  
"With all due respect Sir, Pietro's cover had been blown and the target had pulled his gun and I acted as I saw fit."  Clint straightens up as he looks Coulson in the eye.  "I'd do it again, Sir."   
  
Phil sighs, wearily.  "You didn't think that maybe Agent Silver could have dealt with the threat himself?  You didn't think that he was fully capable of disarming a fifty-eight year old man with a heart problem  _ without  _ putting him in hospital and potentially losing our only lead?"   
  
Clint opens his mouth to defend himself, and then closes it again.  Phil's right and he knows it.  He'd seen Pietro in danger and just..reacted.     
  
Phil's phone rings and gives him a brief reprieve.  Not that he can really think of anything to say beyond the fact that he saw the man that he has stupidly fallen in love with with a gun pointed at him and years of training had flown out of his head in his absolute desire to make that stop happening.  Immediately.   
  
"Goddamnit!"  Phil swears as he ends the call.  "Stark managed to fly the coop. He's back but I've been reassigned.  I need to go pack."  He sighs again as he looks at Clint, still standing to attention in front of him.  "Do us all a favour, Clint.  Tell the damn kid how you feel."   
  
Clint's shoulders fall in resignation and Phil claps him on the back as he leaves.   
  
"And if you do it before Tuesday, then I win the betting pool."   
  
*   
  
Clint really had meant to tell Pietro how he felt.  Really, he had.  Then Ivan Vanko and Justin Hammer had brought hell down on Stark's Expo and between worrying over Natasha and helping to coordinate agents for clean up duty, it just...slipped through the cracks.  Again.   
  
Until Pietro is standing in front of him, angry and demanding to know why Clint didn't trust him, why he hadn't let him handle himself.     
  
Clint hadn't ever been so grateful to hear Coulson's ringtone blaring from his pocket.   
  
Ending the call, he turned to Pietro.  "Wanna come to New Mexico with me?  We’ll talk over everything on the way, I promise."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Thor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Mexico, a blonde one-man-army and a hospital room.

It turns out that it's really hard to have a meaningful, heart to heart conversation while crammed into a SHIELD carrier jet with thirty-two other agents.

Not that Pietro is phased by the audience, of course.

"Talk." He demands, arms crossed in front of him and eyes glaring at a nervously shifting Clint strapped into the seat opposite him.

"What, here? Now?"

“I think we've waited long enough, yes?"

Clint has to give him that. This..whatever it is, - whatever it could be - looking at the set of Pietro's lips and the stubborn frown lines between his eyes, Clint has to concede that it's now or never.

Never.

Clint hadn't realised a concept could scare him so much. The thought that he and Pietro would never act, that they would just let everything go unsaid and live their lives separately is terrifying. In a way that bombs and burning buildings and jumping from roofs just isn't.

It doesn't seem important now that there are thirty other people crammed in here with them; when the other option is never, Clint will always choose now.

He starts to unbuckle his harness, he's not doing this without being able to touch Pietro, without knowing that this is real and happening and - -

"Buckle back up before you hurt yourself, Clint. I'm not gonna make you say it here, it can wait until we reach Puente Antiguo." Pietro grins at him and Clint simultaneously wants to taste his smile and punch it off his damn face.

He supposes he's going to have to get used to that feeling.

  
*

They land in the middle of the New Mexico desert and the sheer scale of the structure that SHIELD have erected since Coulson got here twelve hours ago is Clint's first clue that something pretty damn strange is going on. He's seen his share of 0-8-4s in his time and yet there's something about this one that feels different. Bigger, somehow. More important.

"A hammer? Seriously." Pietro seems less sensitive to the budding importance of this particular 0-8-4.

He gets even less impressed with it when Clint manages to stealthily snap a picture of him straining to move it and sends it to Natasha and Wanda with a snarky comment on Pietro's manliness.  
Night falls and they still haven't had a chance to talk. (Despite Phil glaring at Clint and tapping his watch and sending passive aggressive texts about how it's almost Tuesday.)

And then the base gets stormed by a one man army. A very tall, very wide, very blonde, very attractive one man army.

*

"I need eyes up high, with a gun." Coulson bellows over the radio and Pietro grins, grabbing Clint's bow off the rack and holding it out to him.

"They're calling your song, Hawkeye." Pietro is buzzing with adrenaline, eyes bright with the anticipation of some action, smiling wide and Clint is done with talking. Hell, they're men of action so why not just..act?

Pietro's lips taste like sugar and one taste is all it takes for Clint to know that he could get addicted to this. To Pietro, to them, to “us”.

Coulson yells through the radio again and Clint breaks the kiss, a dazed smile on his face as he vaults into the crow's nest and starts to rise.

'Show off,' He catches Pietro signing at him just before he turns around and heads into the fight and can't stop himself from grinning.

Up high like this, Clint has a perfect view of the compound. More specifically, Clint has a perfect view of the one man army waltzing his way through the compound, making the SHIELD agents who get in his way look like a bunch of minimum wage mall cops.

"Barton, talk to me." Coulson's voice is in his ear, sounding about as ruffled as he'd heard Coulson get (almost as bad as Budapest.)

"You want me to slow him down, Sir?" Clint asks, bow held taut and ready. "Or are you sending in more guys for him to beat up?"

"I'll let you know."

Clint watches and smirks as the blonde man knocks Agent Ward through the outer wall of the tunnels. "Better call it Coulson,” he teases, “‘cos I'm starting to root for this guy."

He's pretty sure that if radios could convey hand gestures, Phil would be giving him a choice one right about now and he couldn't care less. That jackass Ward could stand to be taken down a peg or two and this guy, this Greek god of a man who is taking SHIELD apart like Lego, he's damn impressive.

At least that what Clint thinks until he sees Pietro dart his way into the man's path.

Heart hammering, Clint watches with reluctant pride as Pietro dodges a blow and lands a solid punch to the intruder's face.

"You're fast." The fighters voice is deep and booming, loud enough that Clint can hear it from his position high above them. "Fought faster." The man grins wickedly before launching himself at Pietro with renewed purpose.

It's only the memory of how pissed Pietro was last time (and Phil's constant yelling to "HOLD! Do not fire, Barton, I swear to God -don't do it.") that keep him from taking the guy down. He knows he'll never get used to this part, the watching Pietro throw himself in harm's way part and despite the fact that he is lasting longer than anybody up until now it's clear as day that Pietro is out of his league as they tumble through the tunnel and into the wet mud.

Any other time, Clint would be thrilled to see two attractive men wrestle in the mud but things are going from bad to worse for Pietro.

He rejoices internally as Pietro gets the intruder into a headlock but then six vicious elbows to the ribs have him almost losing the grip on his bow again. He knows it would be impossible from up here, but Clint swears that he can hear the snapping of bones that accompany each elbow thrust.

It's almost a relief when Pietro goes down from a ridiculous flying kick aimed solidly at his chest but his relief is short lived as Pietro struggles to keep moving. Clint is torn between feeling proud at Pietro's resolve and horrified at his idiocy in continuing to try and win this fight.

The man stops Pietro's feeble movements with a swift kick to the head that has Pietro collapsing into the mud like a sack of potatoes and all Clint can feel is horrified.

As the blonde giant slowly makes his way towards the hammer, every inch - every atom - of Clint is desperate to check on Pietro.

"Last chance, Sir." Clint cautions through gritted teeth as he prepares to let his arrow fly.

"Wait." Phil orders. "I want to see this."

Clint dutifully stands ready for action as the man-god tries and fails to free the hammer, watching unmoved as he crumples onto his knees, incapable of caring about anything other than Pietro.  
Coulson hasn't even finished giving the order for ground troops to move in before Clint is back down on the ground and running towards where Pietro is being loaded onto a stretcher, his pale skin already starting to bloom purple.

The infirmary, what passes for one in this temporary structure anyway, is overflowing with walking wounded - a terrifying number of casualties to be caused by just one man. Clint glares at anyone who dares get in their way as he helps carry Pietro's prone form to an examination bed and he must look as bad as he feels if the way everyone rushes to clear a path is anything to go by.

Once Pietro is situated, the medics push him out of the way and all he can do is wait.

For someone with a reputation for patience, Clint really hates this part.

*

Clint waits for Pietro to wake up.

He waits for Pietro to wake up while Phil tells him that he had let Donald Blake go; he waits for Pietro to wake up while fielding countless phone calls and text messages from a frantic Wanda and a coolly concerned Nat; he waits for Pietro to wake up as they airlift him to the nearest hospital, the temporary base not equipped for an MRI scan; he waits for Pietro to wake up as the doctors tell him it's a waiting game; he waits for Pietro to wake up as Phil spins him a ridiculous story about Gods of Thunder and rainbow bridges.

God, how he hates this part.

Pietro's eyes, when they open, are bluer than Clint remembers. It's only been four days and Clint is shocked to realise that he had already begun to forget just how the outer ring of lighter blue looked like silver when it caught the light just right.

"What did I miss?" Pietro's voice is rough with disuse and sounds better than the most beautiful music to Clint's ears.

"Well, it turns out Gods are real and there's at least eight other realms out there that we should probably be concerned about." Clint chuckles as Pietro's eyebrows disappear underneath the hair lying across his forehead. He brushes the dark, corkscrew curls aside - something he has indulged in constantly while Pietro had been unconscious, something he was scared he might have missed his chance to do while Pietro was awake. "Oh, and we are taking a well deserved vacation once you're better."  
"Just the two of us?" Pietro slurs, already drifting back to sleep.

Us. Just hearing Pietro say the word makes him smile. Clint watches as Pietro falls asleep, a real sleep this time; not the unnatural stillness of unconsciousness that he had been in before.

Us.

It's a good word.

 

 


	4. The First Avenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Pietro go on vacation.

Pietro has too many scars and Clint has made it his duty to kiss every single one of them.

There's something so decadent about having Pietro laid out before him like this; on a bed big enough for four, the tropical sunshine filtering through the gauzy curtains that dance in the warm sea breeze. There's something so freeing about having Pietro laid out before him like this; not having to worry about sound carrying through the walls and into the next agent's bunk, the freedom to be as loud or as lazy as they like.

Clint is a fan of vacations.

It had taken far too long for Pietro to heal after Thor's attempt to retrieve his hammer, too damn long until Pietro was well enough to make a vacation worthwhile. Clint still has fond memories of the day he got to walk into Coulson's office and slap the paperwork (in triplicate) for a vacation request on the top of Phil's laptop. ("Is this a joke? I've been breaking my back trying to get you to take a break for the past four years and all it would have taken was getting you a boyfriend? Approved, Barton. By the way, I hear Tahiti is nice.")

Tahiti _is_ nice, at least the little bit Clint had seen from the windows of the plane that had got them here and the taxi that had taken them to their own little private beach hut. Pietro had made them venture out precisely once, to take a photo of a the sunset to send to Wanda as proof that they weren't going to spend the entire week holed up in the bedroom, before they had retreated to the bedroom with no intention to come back out until it was time to leave.

Clint's sure that Tahiti is a lovely place, but he knows that the sights and sounds of the island can't compare with this.

The miles of pale, golden beaches can have nothing on the miles of pale, golden skin just waiting for Clint to taste it. The clear blue sea can't hold a candle to the edges of blue that shine from Pietro's lust blown eyes. The music of Tahiti can't compare to the bitten off moans and breathy sighs that fall from Pietro's lips. The swaying hips of the Polynesian dancers would be clunky and uncoordinated when compared to the soft, undulating rhythm of Pietro's.

Clint doesn't feel like he's missing out.

Pietro shifts impatiently on the bed and Clint soothes his hands across the hard muscles of Pietro's chest, settling comfortably between the vee of his legs. He starts by blowing a stream of cool air across the sweat prickled hollow of Pietro's hip, relishing the way it causes goosebumps to raise up against the skin.

There's a small white scar just over his hip bone and Clint presses an open mouthed kiss to it, tracing it with his tongue. He doesn't know how Pietro came upon this one, it was small and faded enough that it had likely happened long before Clint knew him, but Clint commits it to memory regardless, another addition to the map of Pietro's skin that he is building up in his mind.

Pietro groans in frustration as Clint's fingers dance their way across his ribs, delicately and reverently ghosting over the previously broken bones.

"They're fine now," Pietro complains breathily, his accent more pronounced than usual.

Clint smiles. "I know," he teases, keeping his touch feather light and _not enough_.

Pietro's eyes roll up into his head as Clint's fingers scrape over the trail of dark curls leading down from his belly button and Clint smiles into the crease of Pietro's groin before taking pity on his poor lover and slicking up his fingers, to finally give Pietro what they both want.

Clint doesn't know how he can bear to go back to sneaking quiet moments in the Hub, not now that he knows just how wonderful Pietro sounds when he's not struggling to keep it in. From the long, drawn out moan when Clint's finger first breaches him, to the surprised gasp when his fingers begin to move; Pietro's noises drive Clint mad.

One finger turns into two and Pietro is panting heavily now, snatches of words like "please" and "yes" and "now" filling the air in at least two languages.

Clint slicks himself up and pushes in, always shocked at the tight heat that envelops him in that first moment. Pietro's mouth rises up to crash against his own and Clint opens up for him, swallowing the small whimpers of pleasure like the delicious morsels that they are.

Pietro's cock is trapped between them, not that he minds, and Clint feels it grind against his belly, leaving sticky trails of pre-cum in its wake that Pietro will lick off later before they shower and fall lazily back on the bed for another round.

Just imagining that makes Clint's cock twitch where it's nestled deep inside Pietro. Moaning, Clint pulls out and pushes in, a steady rhythm that is already second nature to him. He shifts further up on the bed, pushing Pietro's legs higher and when Pietro starts to babble in Sokovian, Clint knows he's found the right angle.

Pietro's hands fall from Clint's shoulders to crash against the bed as the heat in his belly grows, sparks flying across his vision with every well timed snap of Clint's hips.

Clint loses himself to the action, his mind floating until all he's aware of is heat, friction, broken babbling, and the sound of Jerry Garcia singing about a "Big Boss Man."

"Aw, fuck, no." Clint fumbles for his phone, monetarily collapsing on Pietro as his arm slips.

"What are you - -" Pietro sound disoriented as Clint reaches over him, " - why did you stop?" The phone continues to play the bluesy strains of The Grateful Dead and Pietro's eyes widen in disbelief. "You can't answer that now!"

"It's Coulson's ringtone," Clint gasps as his fingers just manage to grasp the edges of the phone. "Phil wouldn't ring if it wasn't important."

Clint doesn't need to look at Pietro to know that the possibilities have sunk in, he can feel it in the way that Pietro's entire body has tensed up, the same thoughts of _Wanda, Natasha, Phil, please, no,_  probably running through his mind.

"Phil?" Clint thumbs the phone on to speaker as he answers, still lying on top of Pietro.

"Clint - oh my - it's - I can't - "

Pietro and Clint share a panicked look as Coulson struggles to speak, panting heavily like he's in the middle of a panic attack.

"Phil? Deep breaths, Phil." Clint coaches worriedly. He's never heard Coulson like this, didn't think Coulson could sound so frantic. "Just tell us. Is it Nat? Is it Wanda?" Clint tries very hard to ignore the way Pietro's breath hitches in barely controlled fear as he says his sisters name.

"It's Steve." Phil answers, breathing finally under control.

"Who the hell is Steve?" Pietro asks, confused.

"Steve Rogers! Captain America! We sound him. He's alive, he was frozen but he's alive and he's here and - _Clint, I'm watching him sleep_ and - -"

"I AM ON VACATION, I JUST DAMN NEAR HAD A HEART ATTACK BECAUSE I THOUGHT ONE OF YOU HAD DIED AND I AM STILL _INSIDE_ PIETRO! NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR YOU TO FANBOY OVER CAPTAIN AMERICA TO ME!" Clint hangs up abruptly and groans as he realises that he had softened and slipped out at some point during the whole panicked worry.

His phone beeps with an incoming text message and Pietro picks it up while Clint is busy screaming his frustration into the pillow.

"It's from Coulson. He says that we must never speak of this again and that he's booked us another week here and rescheduled our flights."

"Huh," Clint says, somewhat mollified. "Another week. You wanna actually see some of the island?"

"Hell, no."

Clint grins as he lets Pietro pull him into a biting kiss.

"Nah, me neither."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> But look at as some well needed crack before Loki shaped angst comes upon us.
> 
> Next chapter up at some point next week.


End file.
